


A Love Story

by MOFOSTAN



Category: South Park
Genre: Angst, Love, M/M, Multi, Multi-Point of View, Unrequited Love
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2012-11-12
Updated: 2012-11-12
Packaged: 2017-11-18 11:57:35
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 842
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/560812
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MOFOSTAN/pseuds/MOFOSTAN
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Kenny writes Butters a love story and it's up to Butters to finish it. Does he rewrite a tragedy into a happy ending? Or does he put an end to all of this madness by just walking away?</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. In Medias Res

In Medias Res

You slam the door in fiercely and lock it, not caring for a damned second that your parents are screaming at you from the other end, slamming their fists on the white, wooden doors. You kick on the door and shout for them to leave you alone and the yelling roars into frantic punishments and threats. The tears stream down your eyes and you scream back at them, begging them to leave you alone, to let you be for once in your pathetic life. You just want to be left alone; no one to influence you, demand things from you, accuse you. You start sobbing. You sob on behalf of all of the years you have lived, on behalf of your broken heart, and on behalf of the past few months. By the time your throat is locked and your stomach aches, your nose a runny mess and your eyes burning, your parents are long gone. They have left the house slamming the door behind them and leaving to shop for a therapist.

 

You reach for a tissue, next to your night stand, and you glance at the window. You see the red bucket against your window, strapped up by sturdy rope. The familiar memories make you angry and you open your window, the early spring air hitting you. You’re about to throw the bucket down in the bushes below, but the words you see for a fleeting moment stop you cold. You look inside and see a thick document titled _A Love Story_. Under the title you read, _“Written and edited by Kenny McCormick”._

 

You slowly close the window doors and you wipe the tears forming in your tired eyes that never leave the title page. You sit down on the edge of your bed and flip to the next page.

 

_“For Leopold Butters Scotch, my former best friend and hopefully the one person that can smile in my memory.”_

 

You clench your teeth, the resentment and hate building up in your chest. You want to fling the document into the dumpster next to the convenience store in town. You don’t. You turn the page and begin to read the _Letter of Payment_.


	2. Letter of Payment

Dear Leopold Butters Scotch,

                The problem with writing a story is that you want to sit down and write something amazing when you’re asked to. Something that would “wow” the person that commissioned the story from you. When they ask for a love story you want to write something they have yet to see before in other stories, especially if you want to rattle their hearts for reasons that compel you to fully understand them. You want to see their crying face and engrossed expression. For that awkward smile they form whenever they are genuinely happy. For your love for them. You want to leave your impression marked on them. You want to write them what they ask for so well that when they are shopping for engagement rings for the girl they want to spend the rest of their lives with, when they are filing their income taxes each year, or when they are buying furniture for their new home, they would spontaneously and inexplicably remember your story and smile to themselves, recalling their memories with you. You want them to remember you well.

Unfortunately, I won’t see your sundry expressions as you read. I also know you can’t guarantee a fond memory of me in the coming days. However, _I_ will surely remember you well. I already recall you coming to my desk that early summer before the last day of school, catching me in the process of writing a narrative prose in which my antagonist was you. Flushed and embarrassed, not realizing you were right behind me reading, I stumbled on my speech, trying to find ways to discount what you’ve read or explain my odd behavior. Before I could finish, you eagerly showed me that small and awkward smile and told me, “Gee, I like the idea of me bein’ the bad guy, Ken!” You weren’t bothered about me placing you into my stories and you were pleased at the unexpected twist of me enrolling you as the calculating villain, bent on exposing the inner evils among your classmates under the guise of being helpful.

Anyone would have been apprehensive and off-put, but I remember being utterly perplexed that you wanted to read my story. In fact, you requested a commission from me. “Hey Ken, if it wouldn’t be too much trouble, could ya write me a love story? I dunno, somethin’ sad too, BUT not _too_ sad! I want a happy ending.” So I wrote you a love story. My only fee is that is that you finish the ending yourself. Rewrite another’s folly and make the right decision true. When you again find love, learn from their mistakes and cut the excess bullshit. I mean it. Don’t half-ass it. Don’t overthink either. Just feel it and do it. Don’t hold anything back.

I won’t say sorry.

Sincerely, Kenny McCormick


End file.
